


Tales from Vogue

by mischiefreblogged



Category: Glee
Genre: Fashion Kurt, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:33:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefreblogged/pseuds/mischiefreblogged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of snapshots of Kurt’s time at Vogue.com .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Accounting Department

_Entry - October 1st, 2012_

_Thing #7865 I’ve learned during my first weeks as assistant to the fabulous Isabelle Wright; Vogue has an accounting department._

_Now don’t get me wrong, I know my previously hard earned 20 dollar subscription had to go somewhere.(A perk, if you will, of my new role is that I no longer have to pay for my expensive and dated magazine habit, at least not to hear the immortal words of Ms. Wintour). I just never assumed something like banking took place in the overly couture’d halls of Vogue._

_I suppose you do learn something new every day._

_Stay fashionable,_

_Kurt._

* * *

 

“Kurt.” Isabelle has taken to beckoning him into her office as if she’s about to reveal the biggest secret. It’s her demeanour. The way she still feels the need to sneak around while she’s establishing herself within the magazine’s hallowed corridors. 

He steps into her office, adjusting the earpiece as he does. It’s bulky but necessary, allowing him to be connected to her ever ringing line at any given moment. “Yes?” 

She extends a note to him, on her personal stationary, not from the large stack of Vogue-issued letterhead. “Could you take this down to the accounting department for me?” 

He’s taken aback. Partially by the request and partially by the fact that they have an accounting department. He takes the letter from her and tucks it neatly into his folder. 

“It’s going to 864. It’s an open desk, about the centre of the room.” This fact is also puzzling because Isabelle can barely find her own way to the meeting room they use daily without getting turned around. 

“864. Got it.” He smiles at her and backs out of the room. 

“Kurt—can you deliver it now? It’s important.” She looks less demanding and more nervous. His fingers itch curiously to know why. He imagines first a handsome accountant that she’s asking out to lunch, or a stingy older fellow with a hunchback whom she owes expense reports to.

“Absolutely.” He gives her an awkward little bow and rushes back to his desk to confirm which floor accounting is on, as well as to deposit his folder into the meagre drawer he’s been given.

He takes the elevator down several floors. The accounting department isn’t of any interest, simply a less fabulous, less adorned version of his own workspace. 864 is, as Isabelle promised, in the center of the room. 

Only there’s no handsome gentleman or ancient number cruncher. Instead it’s an intern, fresh faced in a simple dress shirt, a deep red which compliments his dark colouring. For half a second, Kurt panics that he hasn’t told Isabelle enough that he’s got the love of his life back home in Lima and this is a set up. 

“Can I help you?” the boy asks, looking up as Kurt reaches his desk. He reminds Kurt vividly of the tadpole gays back at McKinley. 

“Yes um—-” he checks the desk number surreptitiously just in case. “I have a note from Ms. Wright for you.” he holds the paper out, squinting slightly. What does Isabelle want with this kid. 

“Great thanks.” The resemblance is there for a second, around the eyes mostly, in the way that Kurt looks like his father despite over 100 pounds of difference and a full head of hair. 

They stand off for a second (or rather Kurt stands off and the boy sits) before the boy reaches up and slowly takes the paper from him. 

“Can I give her a message?” Kurt questions, almost automatically now. Everyone wants a piece of Isabelle. He fears it’ll lead to an epic breakdown shortly, but it’s not his place to say that, not yet. 

“Tell her that I’m fine and I don’t need her checking up on me,” the words are defiant and the creative wheels in Kurt’s head immediately begin to turn. This boy is Isabelle’s secret child from a previous relationship (17 years ago or so, if Kurt’s any judge). Perhaps his father was Indian royalty (except he has no accent—so maybe he grew up in America with a nanny instead) and it was all very hush-hush. In fact, he’s got more of a Bronx accent, to be honest. Who leaves their semi-royalty child with a nanny in the Bronx? 

The boy cocks his head and looks at Kurt. “Did you need something?” He wonders. Kurt snaps back to attention (and reality, pulling him away from the graphic fantasy life he’s begun to create). 

“No, thank you.” He’s not sure why he’s thanking the boy, considering he’s the one that did all the legwork. He turns on his heel from the desk and spends the elevator ride continuing to map out the possible scenarios tying Isabelle to the mysterious accounting intern. 

He doesn’t have to wait long, the boy breezes through the elevators at lunch and sweeps past both Kurt and the receptionist and into Isabelle’s office. From his desk, Kurt can see Isabelle’s entire face light up and she stands, examining the boy’s outfit carefully and complimenting him. He can also see Chase peering round his own desk to watch the interaction. 

“Hummel! Stop spying,” the junior writer snaps, furious he’s been caught. Kurt gives him a critical eyebrow and returns to his work, only looking up again when he senses Isabelle hoovering over his desk.

“Kurt, Trevor and I are going out for lunch. Hold my calls—I should be back in an hour,” she tells him, wrapping a hand around the boy’s arm. He shifts a little uncomfortable and hangs behind her, as if he’s ashamed to be connected to her. 

“Absolutely.” He watches as Isabelle walks him to the elevator, chatting happily, oblivious almost to his discomfort and the way that everyone tracks their progress out of the building. 

Definitely illegitimate son. Kurt thinks. Definitely.

 

 


	2. Coffee Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of snapshots of Kurt’s time at Vogue.com . Warning. Allusions to 4x04 and a lot of Meta. Also a little bit of TNN crossover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Thanks to Adri for the beta and her constant help with writing Trevor. He is as much her baby as he is mine.

_Entry - October 15th, 2012_

_Allies come from the oddest of places. Never turn down a coffee date or a networking opportunity. You never know where it’ll lead._

_Stay fashionable,_

_Kurt._

 

* * *

 

A few days after Kurt’s weekend from hell, his life takes a sharp turn back into the positive. It starts out not so innocently with Isabelle setting Kurt up on a coffee date with the mysterious accounting intern.

She dresses it up, of course. Trevor, she explains, is a life long New Yorker in his junior year of High School, working 3 days a week in the accounting department at Vogue. Perfect to help Kurt adjust to the city. Because frankly, Kurt is — well Kurt is a little out of step with his colleagues, what with Chase and the other full-time Vogue staff able to drink and troll bars to fill voids left by boys.

So he and Trevor meet after work on a Wednesday for a coffee. Chase begs Kurt to remember to find out if he is in fact Isabelle’s son and Kurt waves him off in frustration.

They go for coffee just around the corner from Vogue at one of the busiest Starbucks in NYC. The first 10 minutes are spent in silence after Trevor buys Kurt’s coffee and gets it totally and utterly wrong. 

“So you’re from Ohio?” Trevor doesn’t even look at him when he starts to talk. “So’s my mom.” 

“I know,” Kurt replies, shocked he admits to the illegitimate child business so easily.

Trevor raises an eyebrow at him. “You—do?” 

“Well Isabelle told me she was from Columbus when she hired me—have you been?” 

“She told you about my mom?” Trevor’s second eyebrow rises and then joins the other in furrowed confusion. 

“No—I—-oh—” he’s not Isabelle’s son, then. Well at least Kurt will have something to tell Chase when he returns. 

“Isabelle is my second cousin. Well my mom’s second cousin,” Trevor clarifies. “You didn’t—oh god. I don’t look like her that much, do I?” he peers into the table as if the dull sheen will reveal the truth. 

“Around your eyes,” Kurt explains, drawing in the air in front of Trevor the offending area. 

Trevor snorts. “Mom’ll be so proud. She cried when I told her I was going to intern at Vogue.” He shakes his head. “She’s always been obsessed with Isabelle, even as a little girl apparently. When Izzy went and did that weird Bollywood line, she went off to India.” 

“And—-” Kurt can’t help but assume, because well, that was when Chase assumed Trevor had been born. 

Trevor laughs so loudly that a few of the other coffee shop patrons side-eye them. “No. My dad and she met in University when she got back— she joined the Indian Cultural Exchange at NYU—looked ridiculous, or so I’m told. She’s very into the culture—more than Dad even. Her butter chicken is fantastic for a WASP.” 

Kurt smiles, thinking of his own father’s idea of buttered chicken. New York is so much more worldly than Ohio. “So why the accounting department?” he wonders, warming to the boy in front of him. It’s not a spark of romance, even under other circumstances (and there would never be other circumstances), but a genuine kindred spirit in front of him. Trevor dresses well (if not plainly) and seems well put together. 

“Numbers always make sense.” Trevor shrugs. “And I’m not creative enough for the other positions. I mean not the coffee getting, but the whole creation and trend spotting. I agree with them all, I just can’t—-foresee them.” 

Kurt smirks, the feeling of warmth in his chest spreading a little because that’s what he’s heard a few times since getting here. He has a gift and people are finally seeing it that way. 

“How about you?” Trevor spins the coffee cup in his hands slightly. “You must have worked really hard on your portfolio in high school.” 

Kurt launches into his rehearsed speech about the trials of a fashionable young man in a backwater Ohio town when Trevor interrupts him. 

“Kurt, I don’t know what Izzy told you, but you’re not really my type,” he blurts, still fidgeting with the cup. 

“What?”

“I mean. I think she was trying to set us up, and you are great! It’s just that I am not…” Trevor trails off looking for the right words. 

Kurt feels relief filling him, replacing the dread he didn’t even know he’d been carrying around. “No! I mean. Me too. I just. I mean, my boyfriend. Well he was. Or still is. I don’t know. I’m not really answering his calls right now. It’s complicated.”

“I love complicated.” Trevor eases back into his seat with a smile. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

There’s no reason that Kurt should tell him about it. Here he is, a virtual stranger, younger than Kurt by two years and asking things that even Rachel has yet to delve into. 

So of course, Kurt tells him anyways. Everything, starting from the freshest pain and working his way backwards slowly, reliving every last second of the last year and a half of his life. 

When he finishes, he realizes that the sun has gone down, and all the patrons have changed, but not once has Trevor stopped looking engaged. 

“Wow,” Trevor breaths. “Your love life sounds like a deranged plot on Sing.”

And then Kurt can’t stop laughing. The sound is strange at first, less of his usual soft chuckle and more high pitched and manic. Oh god, it really does sound like that, right down to the pop song that was rehashed to a slow ballad and the fact that in the same week all three of the remaining New Direction couples from last year hit rough patches. 

“You should probably sue Bryan Collins,” Trevor suggests, grinning ear to ear like the Cheshire cat. 

“Oh God, that show is horrible.” Kurt sniffles his distaste. “Real Glee Clubs aren’t even like that. They’re much more talented and there’s far less drama and crying.” 

“So you’re a fan.” Trevor’s grin is almost manic now. 

“Religiously,” Kurt admits after a beat. 

“You should come over and watch at my place.” The offer is accompanied with a simple shrug. “I mean—if you don’t have cable.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Kurt admits. He’s been lonely and being in Trevor’s company seems so easy.

“It’s a date,” Trevor tells him firmly. “Well—not a date. It’s a—-“ 

“Viewing party,” Kurt suggests helpfully, draining the last of his now cold coffee. 

“Viewing party,” Trevor agrees, and smiles at him. 

It’s the first time Kurt’s felt like he’s making an actual friend in New York. It’s nice. 

 

* * *

 

It’s a very good thing in the end that he has a new viewing partner for Sing on Thursday. 

“THAT IS RIDICULOUS!” the bowl of popcorn on his lap is upended, the contents strewn across the floor of Trevor’s parents’ basement. “WHY WOULD YOU BREAK THEM UP?”

Trevor looks up carefully from his bowl of cookie dough ice cream. ”I think it was ambiguous,” he supplies. 

“WELL THAT’S EVEN WORSE?” he begins picking up the popcorn kernels on the floor, all the pain and rage he feels towards his own current problems magnified ten-fold and reflected back at him through the flat screen TV. 

“Kurt—please don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe you should call him,” Trevor tells him quietly, balancing his spoon across the top of the ice cream container.

Kurt drops to the floor with the popcorn bowl, the anger washing over him and replacing itself with a gaping hole of truth to the younger boy’s statement. 

“That or we use Izzy’s company card to fly to L.A. and beat up Bryan Collins.” The suggestion is quiet as Trevor shifts to look at Kurt. “I mean seriously, why the fuck would you break up them up. Does he hate adorable things? Does he hate sunshine and smiles?” The last bit is louder and Kurt can’t help but laugh in return. 

He’ll do one of the two in the morning.


	3. Hiatus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the break up, Kurt takes a hiatus. 
> 
> An interlude told in 4 emails.

_November 1st, 2012_

_Thank you all for sticking with me during my lacklustre blogging during the second half of October. I realize I need to take a break from blogging and deal with some personal issues right now. Enjoy this queue of Vogue Magazine spreads and fashion faux-pas while I'm gone. I should be back before the queue runs out._

_Stay fashionable,_

_Kurt_

*** 

The email from Finn comes without a subject line. The entirety of the email is cryptic in itself and frustrate Kurt beyond understanding.

_ From: Finn Hudson <[drummerdude@hotmail.com](mailto:drummerdude@hotmail.com)> _

_To: Kurt Hummel <[khummel@vogue.com](mailto:khummel@vogue.com)>_

_Subject: (no subject)_

_Hey Little Bro,_

_Felt bad sending this and then felt bad not sending it. Just take a listen, okay?_

_I'm not having a great week, hope everything's cool in New York._

_\- Finn_  

The only other clue to this email being about anything at all is an mp3 file attached to the bottom with the unsurprisingly vague title Audition #3.

He opens the file, prays it's not spam or porn and closes it after less than twenty seconds.

He considers deleting it straight away, just like he did the fifty-three emails, forty-seven texts and the return of one WB box set.

Instead he sends it on to three people with the simple message of thoughts?

****

 

_From: Chase Madison <[cmadison@vogue.com](mailto:cmadison@vogue.com)>_

_To: Kurt Hummel <[khummel@vogue.com](mailto:khummel@vogue.com)>_

_Subject: Thoughts?_

_Never really liked Grease and the whole guys singing girl's songs is a little too X Factor for me. Nice voice, though, is it you?_

_See you at the brainstorm,_

_CM_

 

_From: Rachel Berry <[r.berry@nyada.edu](mailto:r.berry@nyada.edu)>_

_To: Kurt Hummel <[khummel@vogue.com](mailto:khummel@vogue.com)>_

_Subject: Thoughts?_

_Oh Kurt._

_I'll bring home cake._

_Rachel Barbara Berry_

 

_From: Trevor Haryana <[tharyana@vogue.com](mailto:tharyana@vogue.com)>_

_To: Kurt Hummel <[khummel@vogue.com](mailto:khummel@vogue.com)>_

_Subject: Thoughts?_

_1) Don't send me musicals. I think I have to pay damages if my ears bleed out on the desk at work. You know my rules. Musicals may only be sung by the cast of Sing, and only because I want to sleep with 70% of them (girls included sometimes, but seriously, have you seen them?)_

_2) Wow, I didn't know it was legal to record heartache in melodic form. You could probably use this to torture impressionable young girls into doing your bidding._

_3)Holy shit that voice. Holy shit._

_4)You know what's fun? Talking shit out. Or at least that's what TV taught me._

_5)It bears repeating -- don't send me musicals ever again. Jesus Hummel, here, have some real music._

_Trev_

_p.s. So I read a ton of new Sing spoilers last night -- message me back if you're up to the rage inducing coma that Byran Collins specializes in._

_1 attachment: Uprising - Muse.mp3_

***

One email gets deleted. One song gets played all the way through, followed by some sort of ear-splitting rock anthem that gets deleted immediately after. One cake gets eaten.

One blog's hiatus continues.


	4. This Too Shall Pass (like acid wash jeans)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt returns to Vogue after learning you can't always go home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place directly after (and therefore contains minor spoilers to) Glease (4x06)

_November 15, 2012_

_[A picture of a Vogue model in acid wash jeans]_

_This too shall pass._

_Stay Fashionable,_

_Kurt._

***

_From: Trevor Haryana <[tharyana@vogue.com](mailto:tharyana@vogue.com)>_

_To: Kurt Hummel <[khummel@vogue.com](mailto:khummel@vogue.com)>_

_Subject: Facebook_

_Thanks for the add. Don't want to sound pathetic or like a stalker, but it helps for asking awkward questions._

_What awkward questions you ask? Like WHY WOULD YOU GO HOME FOR THE HIGH SCHOOL PLAY STARRING YOUR EX-BOYFRIEND._

_Please note, I haven't seen Grease, so I am merely assuming he's the star. But after that weird sobfest of an audition, I imagine he's the lead based on talent alone._

_(Also, that was not an invitation to make me watch Grease, Hummel. I have standards. I am above this.)_

_So how's the guy worth losing sleep over?_

_Sing blew this week, don't bother watching. Bryan Collins is clearly too busy obsessing over his new baby to care that his co-writers are destroying his show._

_Also, how many times are they going to make Clea and Rory break up on screen? Everyone knows they're a couple and breaking them up on screen for the millionth time isn't going to undo all the sex they have in their trailers._

_Coffee on Thursday?_

_Trev_

***

It's waiting in his inbox when he gets to work and goes about pretending he didn't just have a horrible misguided weekend. 

It's his right to be betrayed, it's his right to be so angry, his right if he doesn't want to listen. It's okay not to trust.

And it's okay that he has to repeat that to himself a million times a day until he believes it.

He files the newest stack of requests for the website and hums softly to himself, unsure of what he wants to do with himself now.

"I don't like being ignored," a deep voice announces to his right. Kurt jumps about a foot in the air. 

"Chase mentioned you were in," Trevor tells him with a shrug as he rounds the rest of the corner of Kurt's walled off area, voice returning to normal. "Well, after he grilled me about Isabelle's love or hate of collars. I chose not to clarify the type."

He waits another pause and then looks at Kurt hard, like he's not sure what to make of him. "Why would you go back?"

Kurt has no answer, because the reason he told Cassandra seemed to fizzle the second he saw Blaine, just as the urge to talk it over had seized in his throat the second Blaine had emerged from his bedroom the morning after.

"Good, no answer, sounds like a great reason to me," Trevor confirms.

"Stop," Kurt begs. "I don't want to hear more people telling me what to think right now."

Trevor takes half a step back, but doesn't leave.

"I don't want to be told that I need closure or I should hear him out and sit through all the nasty details, I don't want to be told that I should just forget him or that I need to go on a date. I don't want to be told I shouldn't go back to my old high school because it's his high school now. I don't want to be told I can't go home and I certainly don't want to be told that Lima is my home."

"Do you have any idea what you want?" Trevor asks hesitantly.

"I want," Kurt says with finality, a tone he hasn't used at all in the last few weeks. "I want to know that this too shall pass."

"This too," Trevor repeats, "shall pass." He looks at Kurt for his cue to leave, but there's none given.

"How do you know?" It could be accusatory, but it's not.

"Because Acid Wash Jeans, did, and it was looking like those would be back in style forever," Trevor answers simply. And it seems like a good enough answer for now.

***

An email, sent two and a half years after the last one…

_From: Trevor Haryana <[tharayana@vogue.com](mailto:tharayana@vogue.com)>_

_ To: Kurt Hummel <[hummabledesigns@gmail.com](mailto:hummabledesigns@gmail.com)> _

_Subject: Groomzilla_

_Dear Groomzilla,_

_Not even sorry for calling you that in the slightest. Who the hell sends out welcome packages to their joint wedding party with instructions as to if they are on Team K or Team B and then pairs them with a person from the opposite side?_

_Also, while I appreciated being paired with Mike, please note he and Tina have paired up, leaving me with some guy named Wes. Secondly, I resent that you're letting Finn be best man over me. Who ever decided that Finn Hudson was a man? Really now, he is a boy child. I may be 2 years younger than him, but I'm far less likely to lose the rings or screw up the bachelor party or say something irrevocably stupid._

_In short, I feel like I've been shafted and demand that in future endeavours you give me a better role._

_Fun story of the day: There was this guy on the subway, probably 25ish who was clearly trying to be well dressed and failed miserably. He was wearing brown shoes, black pinstriped pants, a light grey overcoat with the belt so screwed up he might as well have not bothered, a plaid blue/green scarf and a tie with another pattern, but at that point my eyes were bleeding so I can't recall it exactly._

_Please launch your damn brand already so we can help poor souls like that one. Please?_

_Coffee on Thursday?_

_Trev_

_P.S. You should check out Rachel's wall. Mercedes is threatening her -- guess she's unhappy with her Welcome Kit to the Blaine and Kurt Wedding Extravaganza, too._

_P.P.S. Why did I notice so much about the horrible outfit you ask? Because the dude was staring at me. He probably plays soccer because his nose has clearly been hit with the ball more than once. Too bad, might have asked for his number if he hadn't sucked so hard at dressing himself._

It seems that everything does indeed come to pass...


	5. Costumes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor and Sam team up. Everything can go wrong from this point onwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allusions to 4x07. And several comic book characters.

_November 18, 2012_

_**Anonymous asked: If you were a superhero, who would you be.** _

_I’ve always liked Emma Frost, but I suppose I’m more of a Spiderman at heart._

_Stay Fashionable,_

_Kurt_  

***

Kurt should be worried when he sees that Sam Evans and Trevor Haryana are now friends on Facebook.

He’s still too numb to really think about all the horrible things that could lead to. So, instead, he goes on pretending that it’s because Sam lived in Kurt’s house all last year.

Tina texts Kurt at least four times a day with the fact that A) Finn is trying his best to become Mr. Schuester 2.0 and B) McKinley has turned into a poor man’s Xavier Institute.

Having lived with Sam and dated Blaine means that he knows in turn a lot about superheroes and nothing at all. He likes the movies and enjoys the few comics he’s read, but he’s never loved it like they do.

So he declines the invitation to see pictures and scrolls quickly past them on Facebook (he swears he only stops to admire the high quality of work Tina has done on all the costumes, and not to make note that Blaine’s once bright Kitten Boy costume has been replaced with the dark Nightbird. Wasn’t there a DC character who did much the same?) and goes about his day.

There’s no visible activity going on between Sam and Trevor until one day Sam, seemingly out of the blue appears at the top of his feed.

>   _Sam Evans wrote on Trevor Haryana’s wall: Dude you can’t use red and black. It’ll clash with my suit._

Kurt closes Facebook before he can acknowledge that the status update may be the harbinger of something more sinister.

The next time he logs in, whatever plot has been brewing seems to have expanded.  

> _Trevor Haryana wrote on Sam Evans’ wall: I’m just saying that I can’t be seen pairing up with a guy who calls himself the Blond Chameleon. The Chai Avenger needs you to make it cooler._
> 
> _Sam Evans: Asian Persuasion’s faithful sidekick is already named Chai Tea so you need to pick a new one. How about The New Yorker._
> 
> _Trevor Haryana: You know that’s a magazine right? What about Voguester?_
> 
> _Sam Evans: Lame._
> 
> _Trevor Haryana: I’ve got it! Sarcastiman._
> 
> _Sam Evans: Dude, excellent choice._  

Kurt’s resolve finally cracks and he messages Sam privately.

> _Kurt Hummel: What the hell is going on?_
> 
> _Sam Evans: Sorry civilian, I’ve been sworn to secrecy by my client._

And that’s about all Kurt can take of that conversation. Perhaps, he pretends, feigning blissful ignorance to the ridiculous that generally follows Sam around like a heavy body spray, it’s simply him trying to assess if Kurt will be back for Thanksgiving.

He pointedly avoids asking Trevor when they watch Sing that week, and ignores the fact that Trevor spends a lot of time staring at him, asking leading questions about his state of mind (more so than usual) and tapping incessantly into his phone.

Eventually Trevor and Sam’s public conversations turn to discussing movies and superheroes and Kurt decides that nothing more sinister is, in fact, going on.

He’ll just choose to forget that he ever overheard the conversation between Trevor and Sam last week when he’d slipped off to go to the washroom on their weekly coffee meets.

“Blond Chameleon? This is Sarcastiman checking in. Nothing new to report. I still feel good about achieving the results we’ve been asked for. I’ll report back in a week if anything has changed.”

Nope, Kurt’s not going to ask at all. He’s too afraid of the answer.


	6. Office Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Office gossip travels fast at Vogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allusions to events that occurred in 4x08.

_November 27, 2012_

_Office gossip is a quick and deadly as a speeding bullet train._

_And my hiatus is over. For those of you who stuck around thank you. Big things may be coming, so stay tune._

_Stay Fashionable,_

_Kurt_

***

 

By Tuesday, somehow Chase and the other editorial staff all know what went down in Kurt’s loft.

And on his fire escape.

He should be mad at Isabelle, but he suspects that she’s got less to do with it than the models and drag queens she brought with her.

Chase comes by his desk once, twice, three times as if Kurt will crack and tell him. He tries to bring up doing an article about how to be friends with your ex during the weekly ideas meeting, but Isabelle just shushes him.

Kurt’s having a hard time not blaming Isabelle just a little. He sits down and crafts an email to Blaine detailing how much he disdains office gossip—and to ask what happened to the Sectionals ruling when the elevator doors barge open and seconds later a full to-go cup of coffee is slammed down on the desk (miraculously not spilling a drop on the advanced copy of the print edition of Vogue, nor the meticulous outfit Kurt’s picked out this morning).

“I missed Sing this week because India is not a fan of Bryan Collins. So you are going to tell me everything because I need my weekly quota of somebody else’s drama.”

Kurt looks up and Trevor looks more tanned (how is that possible,  **or**  fair?) and shiny skinned like he’s spent a week in, well, in the sun.

“Did you come back engaged to a nice girl?” he drawls in return, recovering from the fact that this news MUST have been relayed in part by Isabelle because none of the editorial staff talks to the accounting department. 

“Har. Adorable. You talk or I find his number on your phone and I introduce myself.”  And in a single fluid motion, Trevor swipes Kurt’s personal phone from his desk and grins at the last text on the screen.

> _Did you see the promo for the new TLC child cheerleader show? Please tell me we can hate-watch it together._  

“So are you decidedly less single?” he questions, unlocking the phone (and how does he know Kurt’s passcode-- he'll have to change it now--). He scrolls through the last few days of messages and smirks.

“No,” Kurt is blunt and retrieves the phone as quickly as he can. “We’re friends. Best friends. And I decided after some consultation that it was something I couldn’t let go of.”

“Good for you.” Trevor takes a sip of his own drink and looks at him. “So are you friends with benefits? I guess not if you’re still long-distance.”

“We’re re-assessing at Christmas,” Kurt tells him. “Can we leave it at that?”

“For now I suppose.” Trevor leans over Kurt’s desk. ”So tell me, is it true you had 60 of New York’s hottest drag queens in your apartment this weekend?”

Kurt had a strong urge to bang his head on his desk. Office gossip really is the bane of Kurt’s existence.


End file.
